


Red Right Hand

by clarissa_writes



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Cheating, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jealousy, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution, Sugar Daddy, The Garrison Pub (Peaky Blinders), The Peaky Blinders - Freeform, ish, tommy is a jealous boy, tommy is in love but he doesn't know how to show it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarissa_writes/pseuds/clarissa_writes
Summary: It was only supposed to business.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader, Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Tommy Shelby/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 161





	Red Right Hand

_“Are you a whore?”_

You suppose that’s where it all began, really. Six months ago, The Garrison found you sitting alone by the bar with a cigarette in hand, pretty red slip of a dress catching the attention of all the men in the pub, including those of the notorious kingpin with pretty blue eyes. Though, you didn’t know that at the time. What you saw was a handsome, lean man in place of the mobster everyone else feared. 

So, without knowing any better, you’d simply tilted your head up, eyes unashemdly drinking in the expensive tailored suit he wore, crisp oxford shirt underneath a thick black overcoat and brought your cig to your lips. You inhaled, and flickered your gaze back to his,

_“Depends on the man.”_

It didn’t take long for you to find yourself being bent over a table in the backroom, hands clawing at the mahogany table with papers sliding off the desk. 

The man, _Tommy_ , was just the kind of rough you liked. His firm hands held your hips down, uncaring for any bruises he may lay on you whilst under his mercy. He’d bury a hand in your hair, pulling so hard that you’d arch your back for him in that tantalizingly seductive way. There was a sense of danger to him. A rougher, darker edge to contrast his seemingly angelic features. A perfect picture of a devil in disguise. There was no pretenses in your session of fucking. No need for flattering words, butterfly kisses and loving murmurs of affection.

No, there was only that drive to fulfill your carnal desires. The thirst to reach the peak his cock, _your cunt_ , could offer. You were absolutely wrecked. He may be an animal in bed, but he wasn’t selfish. His fingers would find your clit, rubbing to a pace he found to his liking and would come to an abrupt stop when he felt you were getting far too close to spill over the edge.

You’d whine and fuss, but he’d ignore you in favor of grinding his hips harder. Thrusting a bit harsher. Biting you a bit deeper. 

It was erotic, more so when he’d flip you to your front, lift one hand to rest it over your throat and squeeze. It was also then when you finally noticed the gold ring around his finger. Tommy noticed the momentary distraction, faltering mid-thrust when your eyes dropped to his hand.

His lips parted then, ready to offer you an explanation, or maybe not, you don’t know. You never gave him a chance to tell you because you raise a brow, pushing your hips back to him and bit your lip when he hits that delicious spot inside you,

_“Why are you stopping?”_

Your question throws him off guard, but he accepts it as approval nevertheless. 

After that night, you never expected to see him again. You took the money he gave you, left him one last _filthy_ kiss, and promptly left, aware of the eyes still following you until you walked out the door and disappeared into the streets under the judgment of no one but the moon.

What was supposed to be a shitty night after breaking off your last “arrangement” ended infinitely better with a hand full of cash and a good fuck from a handsome stranger who knew how to use his cock. You weren't exactly a whore, but you did get paid for company, so to most people, there wasn’t much of a difference.

Unlike the prostitutes in the brothels, you were considered an “appropriate accessory” to powerful, and wealthy men. They’d flaunt you around, introducing you as a lover, and would lavish you with gifts and riches in exchange for your services. So yes, while you did get paid for your company, you were far more well off than those who worked in brothels and get paid not even half what you make per session. Typically, you stayed with one man at a time, like an actual relationship would require, until the arrangement ends whether it be by your will or your partner’s. 

Your last arrangement had ended when Henry told you he wanted you to give him a son after a dinner party in Birmingham. _A son?_ You rolled your eyes at his words. You never planned on staying committed to your clients, especially going as far as birthing them a child. You’d cut things off right then and there, and walked home until you found The Garrison on your way and decided to get shitfaced for the night.

Everything after was history.

A closed chapter in your story, if you will. Tommy Shelby was supposed to be a fond memory you would forget about in time, until he decided he wasn’t.

Two days after meeting Tommy, you find him at your door. He brought wine. After the initial suspicion and slight fear ebbed away, you invited him inside. 

_“How did you know where I live?”_

_Tommy looked at you, blue eyes calm and unfazed at your question. He stepped around your fireplace, passing by photos of you and your family when you were younger before stopping at the center._

_“Had someone find you for me.”_

“ _Why?”_

_He cocked a brow then,_

“ _Isn’t it obvious?”_

_And it was. It was glaringly obvious what he came here for. The outline of his hardened cock was apparent in his trousers. The fire in his eyes fed into the want creeping under your skin. Pulling and tugging at your head to_ **_give in_ ** _and_ **_take it._ ** _You swallowed down the lump in your throat, his ever so observant gaze catching the motion and watched with rapt attention._

“ _Yes. I suppose it is.”_

_It was only after he took you against the wall, and had you two more times in your bed that you noticed._

_He took off his wedding ring._

He’s never worn it in your presence thereafter.

The first time you had walked down the street with your arm looped around Thomas Shelby’s, you’d noticed the looks you got from the locals. You noticed the many other men with the same flat cap as Tommy’s tip their hats in his direction. You’d noticed them glint when the sun hit them in a certain angle.

You knew right then and there you dipped your feet in something bigger than you.

Tommy was never one to care much about his appearance, bringing you along to certain events and even introducing you to his family (you and Ada hit it off even though she was a bit standoffish when she first met Tommy’s mistress. Same for Polly, but you grew on her when you socked someone in the jaw when they tried get frisky with you). He never cared to be seen with you, until he decided to run for office.

_“What do you think?”_ _You looked up at him, hand holding your cigarette stilling when you turned your neck to face him. You were laying on his chest, his hand grazing up and down your bare arm softly as he waited for your answer._

_“What I think?”_

_You ask, noting how handsome he looks in dim light at the crack of dawn._

_“What I think about what, Tommy?”_

“ _Me. Running for office.”_

_You’d laughed then. You laughed and laughed until you noticed how his lips didn’t quirk up the way they would when he was amused. He was serious. So you blink at him, slowly falling into a place of uncertainty but hide it with a shrug,_

“ _I don’t_ _know_.”

_You tell him honestly,_

“ _I don’t think my opinion should matter._ ”

_His ministrations stopped for a second. Eyes clear and open to anyone who couldn’t see under his facade. But you knew him. There was a war within those oceans entrapped in the windows of his soul. There was conflict and hesitation and something else you refused to acknowledge. And so you look away, puffing out an exhausted breath,_

_“Should I think of this as our last meeting?”_

_You were unprepared for when Tommy would take your cig from your fingers to put it out on the ashtray by your nightstand. He’d flipped you to your back, moving over you so were laid sprawled underneath him and slanted his mouth over yours._

_You could taste the gin off his lips,_

_“No.”_

_He told you, teeth tugging at your lower lip as a hand moved to the apex of your thighs,_

_“It just means I have to make an effort in hiding you away.”_

_You never get to ask what he meant by that. In a way you were glad you didn’t, you weren’t sure if you’d like the answer he’d give you. But that was alright. It just meant your arrangement would last a little longer._

True to his word, he kept your relationship discreet and hush hush. News broke out that he won the race, officially earning himself the title of Thomas Michael Shelby MP. You’d expected his new role to slowly deteriorate your relationship, thus ending it once and for all when things became too complicated to keep up appearances. After all, you were just a distraction. Legs to spread apart when he felt like it. You’d even started looking into new possible clients in London, trying to scope out who would be your next benefactor the night Tommy won.

With his generosity in paying you, you might be able to afford your own business. The thought had always floated in and out of your mind, but you were afraid you’d waste your hard earned cash if your business flunk. God knows you weren't business savvy, but you were good at handling people. Maybe you could open up your own little bar and hire others to do the financial bit.

You’d pondered on that thought when three sharp knocks broke your concentration. Tommy was outside, and this time, he had flowers.

Unlike your beliefs, Tommy never stopped seeing you. If anything, his visits became a little more constant. Where he would've came around a few times a week, he now came nearly everyday.

He never stopped paying you, but sometimes his visits weren’t for sex. Sometimes, he would just lay there and relax. The change of his attitude was charting into dangerous territory. You weren’t blind to the way he treated you, nor where you oblivious to how he looked at you at times. You really noticed the _softness_ when you’d met his son, Charlie for the first time. You’d played with the six-year old, letting him be the finder when you offered him a game of hide and seek. Needless to say, when Tommy found Charlie chasing you around with a goofy grin on his face and his giggles ringing down Charlie’s Yard, Tommy chose to lean against the stable and watch. You didn’t notice him until Charlie finally caught up to you and nearly tackled you with a hug.

Your smile wiped away when your eyes met.

You knew in that moment, you’d have to sever your relationship sooner rather than later. 

The thought of his wife came to mind more often than you’d liked. You didn’t feel _guilty_ per se, about seeing a married man, but you did think she was a bit pitiful. You’d been a mistress a handful of times before, but it was never a problem. The wives of the men you saw knew who you were, and like them, you were simply an accessory. The women married for wealth and family connections, and so you never did have problems with them. The women you’d encountered had their own lovers in secret, away from their husbands’ eyes and a lot more discreet than you were. Only when they felt that you were threatening their place did they really start to act hostile.

It was also when you’d cut off your connections to find someone else.

Why stick around when you could easily find another? A clean slate was better than dealing with spiteful women fearing for their riches.

Six months into your little arrangement with Tommy, you come face to face with Lizzie Stark.

Well, Lizzie Shelby if you want to get technical.

The wife of Thomas Shelby and the woman mothering his children.

You’re not sure how she found where you lived; you doubt Tommy would tell her where he goes off to at night, or rather _who_. Though you know she’s at least _aware_ of you from the nights Tommy drags himself to your flat to fuck his anger out. More often than not, Tommy would curl an arm around you, bring you to his side and let you lay your head on his chest. He’d tell you of his problems in the silence of the night. A whisper of his gravelly voice, like it was physically hurting him to tell you things.

You never ask what’s bothering him.

It’s not your place to. But you never turn away from when he wants to tell you, himself. You listen, sometimes putting in a word or two, but for the most part, you’re just _there_. Present. You offer him something you never offered others before: friendship.

Which is why you’re sure Lizzie Stark coming here wasn’t something he was aware of. You can only guess she followed him once, or had someone tail him and report back to her. You’d met his brothers, even Polly, when he brought you around in Small Heath as his “guest” or if the drive to your place was “too fucking long” and he “had too much of a fucking day to go the extra mile”.

Lizzie sat in front of you, back straight, and posture poised. A perfect lady with pretty clothes, a sharp jawline and face void of emotions. She’s a beautifully refined woman. She sat there scrutinizing you in a way you know women tend to do when they tried to size up their competition. You don’t take the bait, and offer a smile.

“Tea?”

You ask her pleasantly sweet. Lizzie shakes her head, folding her hands together as she sighs,

“We’re well passed the formalities, I think.”

You hum in agreement and wait. You can see that she has a lot to say, and part of you is waiting for her to start throwing things at you. Berating you for “latching onto my husband”, like Tommy wasn't the one actively seeking you out and paying for your company. But she doesn't do that, she licks her lips and then she sighs,

“You’re the one fucking him, aren't you?”

“I am.” You readily admit. You weren’t about to lie to the woman when it’s clear she’s known the gist of it. Lizzie purses her lips, looking a bit irritated at your frankness but makes no comment on it. She nods slowly, trying to come up with what to say and finally, with a bated breath, talks.

“I’m here to tell you to end it with him.”

She gives you a look,

“My husband is exactly that. _Mine_. I do not appreciate him disappearing off into the night to come to you when he should be at home with me and our children. He works enough as it is and with his visits to you, you’re only serving as a distraction-” “Lizzie,”

you interrupt her,

“Shouldn’t you be saying all this to Tommy?”

Her mouth shuts and suddenly a look of rage crosses her elegant face. You’re shocked at the quick transition, but you can’t say you’re entirely surprised. She glares down at you, green eyes ablaze with the scorn,

“He’s my _husband_. You’re his _whore_. A whore who spends her time spreading her legs for a married man. I think I have the right to confront you about it.”

The bite in her tone is chilling, but you can see the fear under everything else. You can see the fear of a woman in love with a man who may never love her back. So gently, you sigh,

“That may be so, but let’s not forget our origins, Lizzie. Like me, you were once a whore. Like me, you were _Tommy’s_ whore. It’s my job to please men like him just as much as it was once yours.”

You frown when she flinches at your words,

“I don’t say this to insult you. I’m saying this to give you perspective. There’s no need to lie when it’s just you and I. God knows you aren’t a saint. You can’t sit there and tell me you hadn’t slept with married men willingly before becoming a Shelby. You can’t tell me you were never in my position, so let’s not play martyr. I get paid for his company, like you were paid for the others in the past. If you want him to stop coming to me, tell him that. The person who owes you loyalty is not me, but your husband. And even if I end things with him, you and I both know he’d find someone else to replace me. Men like Tommy never settle unless you talk to him about it.”

Lizzie doesn’t say anything to that. She’s mulling over your words, and with an indignant nod, she gets up and leave. You watch her as she closes your door and when you’re sure she’s gone, you sink back into your seat and shut your eyes.

Well that went well.

You couldn’t fault her for charging after you the way she did. Any woman would feel the same, but you hated how she came after you rather than Tommy. Yes, you were a whore, but you didn’t approach Tommy. _He_ came looking for you. _He_ offered you a proposition.

And you took it.

Was it morally wrong to accept the favor of a married man? Surely. You weren’t on the religious side, so you had no qualms about damnation. You were only in it for the money. Did that make you a terrible person? Maybe. But that was your way of paying rent. You had no commitment to Lizzie, but Tommy did.

You briefly wondered if she’d listen to your words and confront him. You wondered how he would react if she did. Needless to say, the situation has gotten messy. So messy that maybe it was time to sever your ties with the Shelby man and find another to start anew. 

Staying with him was proving to be far more strenuous than it was fulfilling. 

With your mind made up, you started looking for a flat in London. 

A week after your meeting with Lizzie, you find Tommy waiting for you inside your home after a night out with your friends. Since the awkward encounter, you made great effort to avoid him. You ignored the knocks on your door and avoided going down the street near The Garrison just to ensure you wouldn’t cross his path. You had succeeded until this moment.

Your shoulders sag when you see Tommy’s tall figure sitting on your couch. He looks tired, but most of all, he looks angry.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The dark haired kingpin stands up, body tight with anger and muscles flexing with unrestrained frustration. He looks murderous as he strides in your direction. You’ve never seen him like this. So feral and unhinged, but you hold your ground. You don’t let him intimidate you even when the seed of fear is already planted.

“Out. I’ve been out, Thomas.”

You walk around him, pulling off your coat to hang it on the coat stand. No sooner than your hand lets go of the overcoat, Tommy’s hand grabs hold of your wrist. He pulls you toward him non too gently and with a clenched jaw he spits out,

“Out? For a whole week you were out? Nowhere in sight, not answering your fucking phone, being a bloody brat while ignoring the times I’ve been banging on your door-”

Suddenly his eyes flash with renewed understanding,

“Were you even home? Were you with someone else? Is that it, eh? Found someone else to spoil you so you toss me aside like one of those fuckers you had drooling after you?”

Tommy pushes you against the wall, his hand coming up to grasp your jaw tightly. It doesn’t hurt but it’s threatening all the same,

“Tell me, _____. You found another bloke? Someone better than me? Too good to be with gangster, innit?” He shakes his head, lips drawn tight as he presses his forehead against yours,

“No. If you think you can leave me and run off with someone else, you’re wrong. You’re breaking it off tomorrow- no, not tomorrow. Tonight. You go and phone that fucker right in front of me and tell him you won’t see him anymore. If he doesn’t I’ll find em myself and put a fucking bullet through his fucking skull.”

Your at a loss for words at his rage. At his fucking _audacity_ to come over here and demand these of you. You let him know as much as you push him back with a scowl,

“Who do you think you are?”

You hiss.

“Who do I think I am? I’m your-” “My _nothing_! You are my nothing, Thomas. You are no one but a man who pays for my company. A man who has no right in telling me what I can and cannot do. A man who can’t forbid me to see who I want to see. This is _transactional_. Business. And for fucks sake, Tommy! You’re married. You have children-” “That was never a problem.”

He grits out.

“No, it wasn’t.”

You agree with a tired sigh,

“Until your wife came to my door demanding me to stop seeing you, which I can see, she failed to mention.”

Tommy’s lips part in surprise but he lets out a heavy breath and suddenly all the anger washes away. He approaches you silently, and you don't refute his actions. You let him take your hand, let him cares your cheek and suddenly you feel too exhausted for any of this.

“If this is about Lizzie, I’ll speak to her. She-” You shake away his hands and bring your arm over your stomach to hug yourself. It was for the best that you ended things now. There’d be no point in prolonging this any more than you already have.

“No, Tommy. This isn’t just about her. I think it’s best we end things here. _Now_. Things have become far too complicated for any of this to work. You have to worry about your reputation, your wife and honestly, this isn't what I want anymore.”

You shut your eyes,

“Don’t come back.”

Tommy stands there looking like you'd just pulled the rug under his feet. As if you had just told him you were leaving him, which, you did, but why would he look as though you had something more than fucking? Why had he stared at you with eyes so open and _hurt_ you almost flinched back at his expression?

Tommy says nothing for a while, he doesn't even move. When he does, it’s almost like he’s in autopilot: lost but automatic. Mechanical. He makes his way to the door and doesn’t bother putting on his cap. Not even when it’s raining hard and soaks him to the bone.

You watch him leave, knowing this was the last time you’d see him. You watch him as his figure gets swallowed up in the mist. 

You watch him long after he’s already gone.


End file.
